


Comfort Food

by SnowmanBiscuit



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Some Headcanons About World Building, Through Use of Food and Cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 11:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20339617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowmanBiscuit/pseuds/SnowmanBiscuit
Summary: Memories, time, bearings, comfort, Link lacks many of these. But there's one thing he can always count on: food.





	Comfort Food

When Link first awoke, he was like a newborn deer: uncertain and unsteady. He could move just fine, could push and pull and run and climb, but it was all with a certain floaty numbness similar to swimming in cold water. As though his body was not quite his own and he had yet to take repossession of it.

It stood to reason. For over a hundred years, he had done nothing but rest, mending away from the brink of death. It’d be more of a wonder if his biological rhythm hadn’t been thrown sideways from the process.

He didn’t think to wonder after it. It hadn’t occurred to him to do so, that anything might be wrong. All he knew was that he was here and the world was there and he was going out to meet it.

Even when he came across the old man, he didn’t feel hungry, not really. He hardly felt tired yet he wasn’t energetic either. So it wasn’t intentional when he gravitated towards the apples roasting against the fire-warmed ground. It was a natural reaction, done without thought. Only when the old man’s reprimanding tone broke the silence did he realize what he was doing.

The old man laughed away his jest and invited Link to the apples. Though he still didn’t feel the need to eat, Link thought it might be rude to try to politely refuse after his instincts had gotten away from him.

There was the warmth in his hands from holding it. The differences of texture, a brittle outside and soft inside. The stickiness of baked juices and the contrast between the senses of smell, touch and taste. It seemed to wake some other dormant processes within him, stirring old cinders to life, all trying to sort out this new stimulus.

The old man bantered from across the fire. Talking about this and that and things Link was only just able to follow. The environment felt bizarre, like a dream, ghosting against memories he didn’t have: familiar, nostalgic but lacking.

For the first time, Link felt a growing hollowness form inside him, and it had nothing to do with his empty stomach.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

Food, Link had learned – or rather, relearned was more likely – was something that transcended time. It brought people together, overcoming the boundaries of upbringing and culture. Even with no memory of his life up to now, his body retained what his mind didn’t.

Experimentation was the highlight of any meal, whether it was at a town’s cooking area or over some haphazard campfire. Though he was a bit slapdash with throwing ingredients together and seeing what worked, he was by no means an inexperienced chef.

He knew what smelled right or not, could tell by colour whether something was cooked. He knew to cut in uniform shapes, julienned or diced or minced, even when all he had was a splitting axe and a spear.

It was one of the few conversations he could have with his past self, a way of reconnecting with himself and the world. Sure, Impa had filled him in on what had happened before and during his absence and what he had to do henceforward. He was glad for it, of course, for a purpose, for direction.

The hollowness inside him begged to differ.

It became more and more apparent that there was a disparity between what he didn’t know and what other people did. These people had lives in a time that wasn’t his, homes in places that he could no longer recognize. Everyone was friendly for the most part and rarely did Link feel unwelcomed. But at the same time, everyone treated him like he was no different when that couldn’t be any more untrue.

It was as though a great chasm was growing around him, moving him farther and farther away from everything.

His only anchor was his cooking. Rediscovering his own preferences; rediscovering that there wasn’t anything he particularly didn’t like or wouldn’t eat. Swapping recipes with the locals, discussing crops and ingredients, scrounging in the undergrowth for mushrooms, it all made him feel more like a part of the bigger picture. It made him feel more than a cog in the machinations of fate, like the weight of the world on his shoulders was a gestalt he was a part of rather than a separate, crushing entity.

It was the most basic of creature comforts. After all, the mind was a plaything of the body.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

Hylian and Sheikah towns offered a variety of nourishment that couldn’t be found out in the wild. Plants that were specifically bred and grown a certain way for the sole purpose of finding a way to the table, animals that required husbandry to yield.

Link could garner a handful of Rupees, or some supplies and a bed for a night, in exchange for working afield. He did like animals a lot, their tastiness aside. Though not without their fair share of worries, animals were simpler by comparison: free from destiny and grand designs, killing because they needed to, not because they _thought_ they needed to.

Sometimes he’d daydream about what it’d be like to run wild with the winds as a wolf, or to graze the grasses of outer knolls as a horse, only living each day as it came with no pressing responsibilities or persistent regrets.

But then again, he’d have no hands to pet dogs with, or the ability to offer the cows and sheep handfuls of feed if that were the case. How else would he discover the many colours birds could come in and the different creatures that lived at the bottom of a river? Would he ever know worth of carrots or butter or spices? As an animal, there’d be so much more that would be poisonous or downright indigestible.

Perhaps for the price of coexistence, it was a welcomed trade-off.

Many of the small patches of civilization that he had stumbled into emphasized communal food sharing. While that might have been a part of many cultures to begin with, it was more pertinent now than ever. With the constant sense of doom hanging over everyone’s shoulder, manifesting as a swirl of darkness that could sometimes be spotted far across the northern horizon, there was more comfort in being together.

At the end of a day, everyone would gather the fruits of their labours to share with their neighbours. Kitchens were more an open area where anyone could join. Whenever Link, the blond Hylian with the reputation of a “wild man” among local gossip circles, arrived, people soon learned that if one wanted to find him, check around fires first. He’d likely either be eating or cooking.

Since he often carried ingredients that weren’t readily found in a given area and could be difficult to trade for, he tended to be a bit more creative when it came to cooking for others. It was an encouragement to these villagers; a way of saying that there was a world still out there, thriving. New experiences brought to their doorsteps with the promise that one day, they’d be able to go out and see it all too.

Each new dish he produced came with a story. Maybe it was weird of him – and he certainly hoped no one noticed – to be staring at people rather than focusing on his own bowl but their expressions were more satisfying than anything he could cook. He’d banter and rib and laugh, in his own quiet way, drifting between tables, and for a moment he could pretend that everything was normal. That he was a part of this.

Still, a chime of laughter echoed distantly in the recesses of his mind. A treasured sound, the rarity of which made it all the more precious. The fact that it was missing from the ambient noise around him made it seem as though there was a void in the air, a hole that everyone walked around without noticing.

He tried to remember whose it could be.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

In the Zora Domain, food was mainly eaten raw, almost immediately after catching. Depending on the type of animal meat – piscine, cephalopodic, shellfish, mollusc – cooking could be finicky business and easy to botch. So treating food with heat was something reserved for occasions or necessity.

While Zora stomachs were better adapted to the various parasites and little organisms cohabiting inside aquatic life, there were still certain attributes to the quality of meat that risked contaminants or toxins. Aside from cooking, extensive boiling and fermentation was common in order to make the inedible edible.

Additionally, Hylians had blunted little teeth more suited for herbivores, not for tearing through scales and shells and flesh so chewy it could bounce between the gums for months.

With how standoffish the oldsters were upon his initial arrival, Link went after the younger generations for cooking tips. Reactions had ranged from amused curiosity tempered with attempts to warn him, to inquiries after the biology of Hylians. A few adults knew first-hand that Hylians could turn green in the gills just at the smell of fish, let alone the taste.

Link was undeterred. Surviving on his own for this long had proven the fortitude of his cast-iron stomach. Even if something were to start biting at the lining of his digestive track, there was a ready supply of physics meant to smother the wee beasties. The Zoras had figured that there was good business in keeping such tonics available for peddling, particularly for adventurous Hylians.

Flavours ranged from delicate to pungent with little in-between. Freshly cut fish could melt in the mouth while oysters could taste metallic or almost floral. Snails the size of a curled index finger was like chewing through felt, with a sharp briny flavour. To describe the preserved foods would be futile but at least the fermented shark flesh tasted like it smelled (horribly strong) while the ammonia-rubber stink of unidentifiable pots was truly inexpressible.

In exchange for being allowed to sample, Link gave out some pointers and tips for cooking seafood to Zora cooks. He ended up being roped into making fish pies with them, though not that he particularly minded. Only a few came out ‘standard’ as the others became preoccupied with creativity, trying to mold the pie shape to resemble family members. In a moment of whimsy, he made one to look like Prince Sidon.

A while later, he returned from scouting out the area and dropped by the kitchens, curious. There was only one cook that remained; she explained that once the pies had finished baking and cooling, the others had taken their family-resembling ones to give as gifts. But among the remaining ‘normal-looking’ fish pies, Link couldn’t find the one that looked like Sidon.

The cook guessed what he was doing and gave him a slightly apologetic look. She and the others weren’t sure when he’d be back so they’d gone ahead and shuttled that one off to the Prince. Not sure where to put his face, Link felt an odd mix of embarrassment and bemusement.

Hearing the all-too-familiar baritone laugh echoing from the distance only served to strengthen his mood.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

Sadly, local cuisine was rather lacking on Death Mountain, at least for a Hylian. Not to mention, Link could hardly do anything without risking his face getting burnt off.

Water was always a troublesome matter. Thankfully he could warp to Sheikah Towers when he needed to. Of course, he couldn’t accept Goron refreshments, he valued his life. It was to his amazement seeing the townsfolk tipping back crude metal tankards of lava fresh from the surrounding lakes. Apparently there was a hobby of “brewing” lava, using a careful selection of ores and metals melted and mixed into individual ground reservoirs.

Owing to the scarcity of edible fauna and absolutely zero kinds of flora, Gorons ate metals and ores. This also meant that mines were more multi-purpose crop farms to them. Some had distinct preferences, one preferring iron over steel while another would enjoy amber over rubies. He had once walked in on one Goron smith eating leftover briquettes straight out of the forge.

That’s not to say that they were completely incapable of ingesting edible matter. Greyson over at Tarrey Town had expressed enjoyment of milk. Though they didn’t hunt, Gorons could eat meat if available although Link wondered if that really counted since “well-cooked” meant “burnt to a crisp”.

Aside from that, there was a certain delicacy known as rock roast that had to be mined for. He was always curious about the “bone” shoved through the “meat”. The shape was so peculiar that it could hardly have been naturally formed.

“_Dodongos… extinct… Death Mountain…_” whispered a faded recollection at the back of his mind. Were these fossils, then? The bone definitely was, and the rocky exterior could have been what became of the creature’s armored shell-plates. But the “meat” had a wholly different texture. He wasn’t sure if the constant heat and pressure of Death Mountain’s under-crust could cause this kind of petrification in muscle tissue but he couldn’t think of another explanation.

When grilled, the “meat” turned a vibrant, iridescent red similar to lava. When Link poked one protected finger in, the surface dimpled before smoothing out like a sponge cake. He was offered an “undercooked” portion to try. Something deep, deep in his gut told him that this was a very bad idea – _hearty laughter, a baritone voice booming, “Speechless, huh? I knew you’d like it!”_ – but he was nothing if not interested and a glutton for punishment.

The entire crowd of onlookers lost their collective minds when he swallowed. He was carried shoulder-high amid jubilant Gorons amazed by his stomach capacity and resilience. Even if he could have gotten a word edgewise, he wasn’t sure what he’d say or if he still even had a voice to use.

Speechless, indeed.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

He found Princess Zelda’s diary during an attempt to raid Hyrule Castle for supplies. It had felt odd to intrude on her thoughts in such a manner; not because she had been a close friend though there was that, but because he couldn’t remember her, not really. Perhaps what was written within was something she would have told him – had told him, before – now gone with the rest of his past.

There was a sense of finality. As though, if he didn’t look now, he might never know.

He might never remember and Zelda might never be able to tell him, for one reason or another.

Many pages were made ineligible by the Calamity and Hyrule’s fallout, some altogether stuck and inseparable without causing further damage. In what could be read Link was surprised to see how frequently he appeared in the entries, seeing the development with his relationship with the Princess as though it were a story about a stranger.

_“Bit by bit, I've gotten Link to open up to me. It turns out he's quite a glutton. He can't resist a delicious meal!”_ said one triumphant passage. He felt a faint stirring of fondness.

_“With so much at stake, and so many eyes upon him, he feels it necessary to stay strong and to silently bear any burden. A feeling I know all too well... For him, it has caused him to stop outwardly expressing his thoughts and feelings.” _He had never wondered at his quietness. It had felt like the right thing to do, like a balance he shouldn’t disturb. Fondness grew into a feeling of kinship.

_“I wish to talk with him more and to see what lies beneath those calm waters, to hear him speak freely and openly... And perhaps I, too, will be able to bare my soul to him and share the demons that have plagued me all these years.”_ The warmth inside him shriveled like a clipped flower bud.

_“I have not seen my father since he last scolded me. Things are too strained now... I will meet with him when I return._” Guilt curdled his stomach and put ashes in his mouth.

_“No one would believe a failure of a princess, but... Right now, for no particular reason, I am filled with a strange and terrible certainty that something awful is about to happen.”_

That was the last entry. Link lightly touched the final page, as if it could channel his feelings to the writer. _You’re not a failure. I’m coming for you._

…

It was rather difficult to make fruitcake when one only had a skillet and no oven, but Link made it a personal goal to find a way of perfecting it.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

Staple dishes among the Rito up north were surprisingly spicy. Apparently the Rito were unable to taste that particular range of flavours and thus had no way of gauging what might be ‘acceptably spicy’ to someone of another race. Even then, tolerance varied between individuals.

It was the type of heat that began subtle and subdued but grew more intense the more it accumulated. Whenever visitors stepped foot in the village, the locals would attempt to serendipitously keep an eye on them, especially if they were to sit down at a restaurant. It was one part spectator sport and one part gambling, with a comprehensive betting pool set up to see how much a tourist could eat before giving up or reaching for water.

Link wasn’t aware of this until much later, when Kass mentioned offhandedly that the former had quite the underground reputation in such circles. Apparently he had caused a massive tie among the bettors due to proving everyone’s predictions false.

He took it as a challenge and wasn’t that just a conundrum? It wasn’t as though he could ask for the spiciest dish to exist in Rito cuisine, they had no way of judging it.

But then, that was just another challenge in and of itself.

Taking it upon himself to give the Rito a working scale of spiciness, Link sampled various ingredients and spices and gave his verdict on a numerical value of 1 to 10: 1 was the epitome of mild while 10 was ‘literal pain’. He was glad to have had milk on him, as it helped chase away the spiciness and keep his palate neutral. Though exactly how neutral he was being was a point of contention, since he sometimes ate spicy peppers raw, but that was a minor detail.

This ended up being used against him, since he wasn’t the only one who thought this was a challenge. Consulting his scale, one Rito from the betting pool put in everything that was rated medium to high and presented it to Link. Everyone was discussing probabilities of how far he’d make it; around the Hylian Hero, the sport was past the point of secrecy.

He finished the entire plate. His competitive spirit wouldn’t allow otherwise. As the spectators set up a ruckus in disbelief, he used his paraglider to plow into the cold surrounding waters.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

Gerudo cooking was a balance of extremes, much like the desert itself. Unlike the Rito brand of spiciness, the heat was upfront about its intensity. On the flipside, certain foods had a cooling affect, both on body temperature and mouth-feel.

There were thriving local breweries but unfortunately, Link was disallowed access to it due to his “youth”. It was really disappointing. Alcohol was an important part of an area’s food culture and he had been particularly interested in learning more about Gerudo bartending and drink mixing, especially the kinds that had warming-cooling effects. But that was going to have to go untouched… for now.

Link mainly tagged along the Interacting with Voe class since one of the instructional activities was cooking. It was mostly for new recipes, since the kitchen fixtures weren’t designed for someone of his height and he wanted more opportunity to experiment without a teacher watching over him. One of the ladies ended up picking him up under the armpits and setting him onto the counter, where he could observe easily.

He couldn’t remember his childhood, nonetheless the treatment made him feel like a kid. It also made this weird feeling of nostalgic déjà vu rise in his chest that he had to hurriedly stamp it down. He didn’t like it when he felt like that and letting himself contemplate it was even worse.

He couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at the recipe for hearty stew. The recipe book was next to him and he scanned the opened page for confirmation. Yup, he hadn’t heard wrong; a radish really did go in there.

As he listened and watched, he learned that, much like many other dishes, hearty stew wasn’t meant to be eaten on its own. Gerudo dining consisted of many smaller portions of different foods that constitute a meal. It was a firm belief that variety was the spice of life, and true variety was gained through sharing. It reminded Link of the communal dinners he had taken part in in other towns.

Heat needed to be offset with cold and vice versa. The same went with breaking bread. A bowl of hearty stew alone didn’t make a meal. Half of being a good cook was knowing what went together with what.

It was said a good wife knew how to make a proper hearty stew, informed the teacher. Conversely, a good husband would know how to appreciate it.

Trying it out over the fire on his own later, Link reckoned that he constituted as both.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

Around the area of Hyrule’s ruined castle town, Link decided to stop the night nearby (out of Guardian range) and get an early, fresh start at daybreak tomorrow.

Ever since he had bought it from Kilton, he had made a habit of wearing his Bokoblin hat. He was glad for his foresight, he thought, as he tripped in the gathering darkness and rolled down a hill right into a Bokoblin encampment.

The beastly fellows straightened in alarm, some about to stand, others reaching for weapons. With his expertise in monster mannerisms, he managed to convince them that there was no danger. They had short attention spans anyways. In a few moments it was as though a complete stranger hadn’t stumbled into their midst at all.

Link wondered about his chances at slipping away and quickly dismissed it. If he ran into mobs of a different sort – which, around Hyrule Castle, he invariably would – his hat would have no effect. The moment he drew aggro, his cover would be blown.

It would be best to bide his time until the others were asleep. But despite the setting sun, the diurnal creatures showed no sign of retiring. Many of them were busy cleaning the carcass of a goat, separating meat into rough sections, extracting the skull and incorporating the bones into their weapons.

Bokoblins were omnivorous and had the rudiments of cooking down. Meat and fruit were spitted to roast over the fire. They chattered to each other as they worked, even directing comments toward Link. He responded as best he could based on what he could infer. The others chortled in erratic, huffing panting noises. Evidently they had taken the Hylian as some oddball bokoblin, which… wasn’t exactly wrong.

As the food cooked, he joined them in dancing around the fire. It was a bit awkward considering his physiology wasn’t meant to stay hunched like this for so long, but he had a reputation as a weirdo to uphold.

Once dancing concluded, everyone got their fair share. Having assumed more squabbling would ensue, Link was surprised by the orderly conduct. As he made inroads through his portion of meat and apple, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Bokoblins were able to use tools, seemed to have the basis for some kind of language and had even figured out horse domestication. They had a clear sense of fashion, considering their affection for skulls. In fact, quite a few monsters demonstrated similar intelligence.

If they weren’t spawns of the Demon King, would they have had potential to grow? Old records in the Zora Domain suggested theories of possible relations between Lizalfos and Zora ancestry. Was there a time when these agents of Calamity were individual beings rather than servants? Would it have been possible for them to come into their own, to be able to communicate with the other races and establish peaceful homes and peaceful relations?

Just how different were they from the rest of the world?

Such thoughts wouldn’t solve anything. They were driven to destroy without a chance to decide otherwise. They shared the same fate as the Goddess’ chosen swordsman.

Unwittingly, he fell asleep thinking like that. When he woke up to the morning light the fire was dead and the camp empty.

Δ Δ Δ Δ

It was done.

Calamity Ganon was defeated. Princess Zelda was freed.

The hundred-year nightmare was over.

Logically, Link knew to head to the nearest town, either on horse or by warping. But it was as though all of his thoughts had been blown away by the wind.

He couldn’t feel his limbs beyond a near-electric tingling. His ragged breathing echoed hollowly in his own head. It was a bit like when he first woke up in that cave so long ago.

How strange was it to suddenly be able to feel the weight of those untold decades, years he had never been aware of. It was hard not to, seeing who stood before him now.

There was so much to talk about. So much to do. Although their grand destiny had been fulfilled, this was far from the end of their journey. Exhaustion began pressing in as a weight behind his eyes. No doubt her strength would be waning soon as well.

After all, there was only so much a body could do, courage and wisdom and willpower be damned. Link wasn’t sure what he could manage right now.

So he did the only thing he knew to do.

He began baking apples for the both of them.


End file.
